Guardian of the Heart
by Laurdtundrn
Summary: Long ago, humans and Sidhe lived as one. Now they are but legends....or are they still here??
1. Shutting Out the World

Prologue  
  
Shutting Out the World  
  
It is I  
  
From earth and sky  
  
Shut out, or they  
  
From my closed heart.  
  
-Kathleen Raine, The Oracle in the Heart.  
  
  
  
The night was black, the moon and stars blotted by the ominous swirling clouds gathering over head. Shiny black obsidian threads spun and whirled in a kind of fury, buffeted by the gentle winds. Mists floated eerily along the forest floor, clinging to the tree trunks so that they seemed to rise up out of the fog.  
  
The rustling leaves beckoned as a six-foot wingspan glided to a high branch of an ancient tree, razor sharp talons digging into the branch as he landed. The owl's body went motionless, blending into the night, simply waiting, his yellow eyes carefully scanning the forest floor for his evening meal.  
  
The sudden snap of a twig startled him. Feathers shifting then resettling, his head quickly turned towards the sound, ears alert. Keenly listening. Evaluating weather the sudden din in the soft night air was prey or a warning.  
  
The underbrush snapped again, closer this time. In the distance he could hear the approach of others, smell the fear and adrenaline of their prey. Predatory instincts alerted, the muscles in his compact form tightened under the mantel of white feathers. Sharp talons swiftly released their grip on the gnarled branch, as he hastily launched himself into the night sky. Shimmering feathers beating silently, powerfully guiding him towards the safety of the clouds high above the forest.  
  
She ran as though the very land itself had opened and every daemon of hell had spewed forth, seeking her soul as bounty. As she tore through the trees, she was scraped by the sharpened fingers of twigs and limbs that carved deep furrows in her soft skin. Her lungs strained for oxygen, filling and emptying in too rapid succession, burning with the growing need for rest. She was so close to safety. Her self preservation screamed at her to move, forcing her exhausted body forward. She couldn't stop, not now. Not with the hounds of hell behind her.  
  
Without warning, a misshapen figure materialized at her side, shackling her hand, abruptly halting her escape. The skin on her wrist burned as she tugged fiercly at her arm, attempting to break the huntsman's unyielding grip.  
  
Twisting his hand in her hair, he pulled her close, facing her as he leaned close. "I knew we'd find you." He whispered triumphantly, his fetid breath wafted over her face as his grip tightened rough hands slammed her hard onto the ground.  
  
The fall had knocked the wind out of her and for a moment she lay still, her head spinning in disorientation. The weight of his hard frame straddling her, abruptly refocused her mind and filled her with terror. Hands pinned above her head within the solid vice of his hold, she watched in terror as his free hand retrieved a leather binding from a pocket. She would be bound like the others then executed as they had been.  
  
"I'll watch you burn just like all the others. You Sidhe whore!!" He promised confirming her deduction.  
  
Struggling fiercly, her hands burned with the sheer force of his restraining grip. Her knee thrust upwards between his legs, attempting to catch him unaware in his distraction with victory.  
  
Shifting his weight, he quickly avoided the disabling blow. Slapping her once, twice, his hand closed over her throat, cutting off her air. "Try that again and I'll kill you right here!" his eyes flashed with the promise of retribution.  
  
The bile rose in her throat as his harsh voice reverberated through her, casting up in its wake fragments of haunting memories.  
  
Her village was far too small to stand against the onslaught advancing so quickly toward them. Nothing had slowed these murderers. Everything in their path had been destroyed, everyone slaughtered, cruelly murdered. Village elders had been decapitated in the town square and left for the ravens to finish off. Blood ran in rivers. Everyone had been rounded up. Young and old, the wise and the healers,…….. the children…All were taken away, later found dead in the smoldering ruins of the barn. Burned alive, without mercy or conscience. No one was spared, not even the youngest child or the oldest elder.  
  
The killers burned, tortured and mutilated, leaving behind only smoldering homes and the stench of death.  
  
Anger and retribution soared in her soul, adrenaline surging into her bloodstream strengthening her anger and resolve. She pushed away from him violently, twisting her body to unseat his deadly weight. "Murderer!"  
  
Feted breath caressed her cheek. "Can't murder daemons, I'm just sending ya to Hell where you belong."  
  
She twisted and bucked struggling to obtain the upper hand. He screamed as she raked her nails over his face, gouging flesh and blinding her attacker.  
  
Roaring in pain, his hands released their grip on her shoulders and flew to his bloodied skin.  
  
Momentarily distracted, she called on every ounce of remaining strength and twisted. Unbalanced by her sudden movement, he crashed to the ground next to her. She scrambled back, stumbling to her feet.  
  
His eyes, visible by a brief flash of distant lightning, held fury and murderous contempt as he wiped a hand across his face and stood, a merciless promise of savagery, and hunger for another kill. He raised his hand above her and she caught the glint of shiny metal. He stabbed down, his face a mask of fury and hate.  
  
The last thing he expected was for this slip of a woman to attack him. He struck, aiming for a noncritical area. He wasn't going to kill her, yet. No, this one would linger in pain and misery for a long time before he ended her life. Punishment fitting the merry chase she had led him on.  
  
"Bastard." She hissed, sidestepping the blow. She launched herself at him and went in low and mean, sweeping his legs out from under him so that he landed on his backside.  
  
He howled in pain when the edge of her boot connected with his wrist, sending his knife spinning out of his hand. She kicked the fallen knife again, sending it skittering off over the grass and into the dark piles of leaves.  
  
In a blur of motion, she was gone, running swiftly into the darkened forest, melting into the shadows. Her footfalls were light, almost inaudible.  
  
Cursing loudly as he lost sight of her, he silently vowed to tear out her heart. As his men found him, she heard his impatiently screamed order to follow her.  
  
Racing through the forest, she sought the tall map stone. From the ancient inscriptions engraved upon it, she would be able to find the direction to the ancient stone gate and safety.  
  
The stone gates had been ancient even at the time of her birth. Sidhe legends said that they were a gift from the living earth itself, to her chosen caretakers. The stone circles interconnected time and space, intermingling with the Sidhe's natural magick. Through these sites, their people carried out their sacred work of caring for the earth, journeying from gate to gate, continent to continent, without the restriction of boat, horse or foot and living peacefully amongst the indigenous peoples.  
  
Then death was upon them as the artisans of war emerged. Greedy for power and inflamed with a self righteous neglect of conscience, they drove the Sidhe from their homes and sacred groves of worship, spilling blood with each step. Thousands upon thousands were slaughtered as Man's hunger for power, land and knowledge, drove him to learn the forging of weapons of iron. Wielded by the masterminds of the art of murder, they became the tools of extermination for the Sidhe. Now, her people raced to escape an inevitable annihilation.  
  
"She's this way!" The voices of her pursuers were closer than she had expected. Her soul called out a prayer to the earth for guidance and protection. She was close, she could feel the pulsating hum of the stone's magick pulling within her, beckoning her nearer.  
  
She jumped over a pile of fallen stones that marked the edge of the forest. She was so very close.  
  
The ominous clouds had thickened and darkened, occasionally issuing small veins of lightning and a rumble of thunder, the first droplets of rain landing on her face. As she cleared the edge of the forest, the stone loomed before her. Black in the darkness, illuminated only by the brief light of the lightning.  
  
She stopped her flight, fighting for breath as her hands sought out the chiseled pattern inscribed on the rough surface of the stone. Lightning flashed, arcing from cloud to cloud across the midnight sky.  
  
Her mind raced as her eyes briefly caught the outline of the pattern in the momentary lighting. There it was! She cried out with relief as her fingers deftly flew over the ancient symbols, tracing the path she would need to take to safety. One more flash she prayed, and her path to the gate could be confirmed.  
  
She closed her eyes, summoning the elements, as she had been taught, to her aid. Her body trembled, the gentle tingling building within her mind, behind her eyes, as she pulled at the essence of the land itself, gathering energy from the sky and wind. The energy moved throughout her body with blinding speed, bathing her from head to toe in the pulsating consciousness of nature. Looking into the turbulent sky, she focused the energy, and directed it into the clouds. The sky rumbled in eagerness, as though answering her command.  
  
The sound of heavy boots falling on twigs and snapping branches alerted her to the approach of her hunters. Swallowing the nauseating fear that choked her, she realized she was out of time.  
  
The illumination of the sky was sudden, clearly revealing the map symbols in detail. The sound of pursuit drew closer as she frantically memorized the pictogram, translating the ancient symbols, revealing her direction to safety. Murmuring a appreciative blessing, she pulled her weary body away from the stone and sprinted north. Her feet flew over the hilly terrain of the moor as she raced towards the hilltop.  
  
As she crested the hummock, she briefly looked back looking for her pursuers. The lightning flashed again, revealing their position many hundred feet behind her. She turned back to her goal, lungs rasping for air. There it was. The stone circle of gateway of Mên Scryfa now stood, glowing and active. Hundreds of people were streaming through the gate, passing into the keystone and into safety. Around the gate, stood the familiar blue uniforms of the royal guardsmen of Awyn.  
  
She ran into the field, racing now with long, open strides, arms pumping, heart beating loudly, wildly. The narrow pathway of the procession was just before her. She didn't slow down, but cut into the lane. The guards urged her to hurry while assuming a protective stance near the entrance, deftly pulling arrows from their quivers, and loading their bows as they moved in to protect her. Her lungs were burning, forcing her to slow to a jog. The light of the gateway intensified, bright and welcoming,  
  
One by one, they were hurried into the portal by a tall figure, his aura exuded authority, an expectation of being obeyed without question. He looked like a warrior of old, battle-scarred but undefeated. His golden hair flowed around him, his face set as if in stone, lined with pain and weariness, yet his hands were gentle as they guided his people into the portal, offering them gentle reassurances.  
  
He looked to her quickly as she approached, relief clearly evident on his handsome features. His face was a carved creation of sensual beauty that never failed to steel her breath. For a moment she couldn't think as her dark eyes met his of molten gold.  
  
He gathered her into his arms. His gaze was hot, burning with possession. Her mouth went suddenly dry and her body seemed to go up in flames. His hand framed one side of her face, his thumb feathering over her soft skin, absorbing the perfection of it before finding a resting place over her frantically beating heart. "I was about to send out a search party to find you. Where are the others?"  
  
"Their all dead, Jareth. Everyone." she said breathlessly in despair, anguished tears welling in her eyes "They spared no one— not even the children…."  
  
His eyes darkened dangerously as he pulled her trembling form close to the warmth of his body. Anger blazed within him. It was a crushing blow to lose this village, so filled with many of his kind and their dearest human friends. However grief and tears would need to wait until everyone was safe. "They will pay dearly for their crimes, but our people require your reassuring presence just now." he smoothed the tears away as she relaxed in his arms.  
  
Taking a deep breath, she forced her grief back. . "I was followed." She stated looking over her shoulder." Her voice was much calmer than she felt inside.  
  
Jareth nodded, smiling a small, humorless quirk of his lips that brought a distinctively cruel gleam to his eyes as he followed her gaze. "I'm counting on it. Did Murran still have possession of the Faeid key?"  
  
"Yes," She quickly pulled the delicate gold chain over her head, sadly adding, "It was still around her neck when I found her body." Fresh tears shimmered in her green eyes, as the grief for her friend resurfaced. The glittering green stone shimmered with power and hidden knowledge. It was pressed into the palm of his leather gloved hand.  
  
  
  
"Then our last tasks here are finished and we must leave immediately." His fingers brushed her face in the lightest of caresses, acknowledging her sadness.  
  
She felt a jolt of electricity right down to her toes. Anchoring her back to the present.  
  
"Go through and have the guards patrol the perimeter of the city. If we lose Awyn, we loose our last sanctuary." He stated grimly.  
  
She found tears swimming in her eyes. This man who had stood so calmly and faced death, defending his people, always thought first of his people's safety. Pride rose in her for this man. She may never understand why they had been drawn together, but she was suddenly glad that fate had done so. Jareth was an extraordinary Sidhe male; noble and strong, so often thinking of others before he thought of himself. She reminded herself that this was an often deadly trait for a leader. Shuddering with anxiety and dread at the possibility of loosing him to these killers.  
  
"I'm not leaving your side." she insisted, firmly placing her hand on the wall of his chest. He instantly responded by covering her hand with his, trapping her palm against his heavy muscles.  
  
He leaned down to kiss her soft mouth. There were shadows in her eyes, and she was trembling slightly, but she looked him in the eye and he could feel the resolve in her mind. As he pulled back, the night breezes washed over him, carrying scents and sounds from miles around them.  
  
At once his golden eyes became flat and merciless. A sudden warning to his men escaped as he exhaled sharply. The enemy had found them. Not one or two but, if his acute sense of smell had not failed him, a virtual army surrounded them. The men were moving slowly through the moor, ringing the base of the stone circle's hilltop. He smelled their fear, their adrenaline, their sweat. He smelled their excitement. He read their intentions, their eagerness for the kill. "I will seal the portal after everyone else is through. Go!" His command left no room for negotiation.  
  
Her hand stroked the strong muscles of his neck as she leaned closer. This close, she could see the flecks of gold and silver in his eyes. "If you are as much as scratched, I'll kill you myself." She said tensely. The aching in her heart was real and strong.  
  
Smiling, he felt the curious melting in the region of his heart that she always caused. His mate was trying to be tough, but her voice wavered, her fear for his well-being filling his mind. He sent a empathetic wave of reassuring warmth and love to her as he leaned into her, brushing a soft kiss across her mouth. "I consider myself forewarned, my love." He murmured pushing her towards the gate.  
  
She stumbled towards the pulsating light emanating from the circular opening of the great stone, fear and anxiety clawing at her soul, screaming at her to disobey his order.  
  
The familiar tingling sensation of her second sight began, painfully at first, as though a hundred white hot needles pricked at the back of her eyes. Face flushed with a burning warmth, she felt her subconscious body dwindle, her mind telescoping into itself as the vision took form.  
  
The pitch blackness surrounding her clouded. Eddy of coloured light danced amongst the midnight hews. Her disoriented mind churned with dizziness….  
  
Then through the swirling haze, the premonition began to take shape…….Jareth lie on the ground. His head unnaturally angled. Blood soaked into the fertile soil beneath his lifeless form. A feathered arrow protruded from one shoulder. The hairs on the nape of her neck rose, and she was seized with a nauseating foreboding of the imminent fulfillment of this omen. Of impending disaster.  
  
Her vision cleared as quickly as the certainty that, should she stay on her intended course of action and leave as he directed, Jareth would not survive the next hour.  
  
She had been afraid before. Any being who didn't know fear in the midst of battle was an idiot and probably a dead one at that. Fear could be good. It could stop you from doing insanely stupid things and even sometimes keep you alive for another heartbeat, another breath, another hour, another day, another battle. This was different.  
  
Dread ate at her, burning her soul. She wasn't sure which was worse, the sickening anguish she was certain to live if she left his side, or the fear that accompanied the plan forming within her mind.  
  
His furious reaction would certainly prompt a stern lecture on the subject obedience to one's mate. In his definition of the concept anyway. Their individual understanding of the term had always been somewhat diverse, much to his distain, and occasionally to his extreme frustration.  
  
In the end, however, he would see that her defiance had been the necessary course of action. The only course of action open to a reasonably sane person of good conscience.  
  
Decision made, she slipped behind the keystone, concealing herself in shadows. They would go through the portal together, or meet death together. Looking around the stone, she saw the guards carefully retreating towards the gate.  
  
One by one, they passed through. Clearly reluctant to leave his leader alone, the last guard vanished. A terrible roar of a hundred voices resounded through the night. The attack had begun.  
  
Jareth spun towards the stone portal, his midnight blue cape swinging around him, concealing him in shadows as he raced the few hundred feet towards the opening.  
  
The hilltop was suddenly alive with the movement of the assault. Jareth vanished then reappeared behind the closest attacker. The sickening snap of the man's neck was the only sound, she heard. The doomed fellow hadn't time for a warning to escape his lips, only the rush of wind that signaled his last breath. The cloak of darkness carried him closer to the portal and the next assailant in line. A shadow moving amongst shadowed places towards his next target. Unseen. Deadly.  
  
This one was crouched low, behind a low stone, frantically searching the darkness for a target upon which he could aim his arrow. Shadows gathered around his body and caught him in a death grip, like a huge hand at his throat, slowly strangling the life out of him while his body dangled helplessly inches above the ground. Unceremoniously, he fell lifeless into the deep heather carpeting the soil.  
  
Suddenly, he sensed a man rushing out of the darkness at him, his sword pointed towards his heart.  
  
Jareth's cold eyes gleamed with deadly intent as he vanished into the darkness, then reappeared next to the man.  
  
A leather gloved hand took control of the weapon, forcing the blade back around towards the swordsman. The killer screamed horribly as the blade that he had held, swiftly spun about. The vice-like grip of his victim's hands crushed his thick fingers, breaking bones, as he seized the hilt. With unimaginable strength, the blade now moved, inexorably, towards his own heart. Even as the doomed man screamed and poured his remaining strength into his injured muscles, he felt his own hand thrust the weapon upwards. Pleading black eyes locked on venomous golden ones, seeking mercy, yet knowing undeniably that none would be present. He stiffened as metal pierced flesh and muscle, burying itself to the hilt, within his chest. His punctured heart viciously pumped blood through the lacerated tissue, flowing over the hilt in steadily diminishing waves. Darkness gathered around his soul as a drowsy calm settled over him. The deadly glowing amber eyes staring into his, softened at the moment his heart stuttered, as though sorrowful for the kill.  
  
"There! He's there, in the shadows next to Liam!!" a panicked voice exclaimed.  
  
Jareth loosened his grip as the dead man slumped to the ground. Moving with blurring speed, he launched himself towards the gate, as the swooshing rapport of bows met his sensitive ears.  
  
The arrow caught him high in the back of his shoulder, burning and tearing through his flesh and muscle, stealing his breath. It cut deeper when he impacted heavily on the soaked ground.  
  
He needed to lie there a moment to rest, but the assailant who had succeeded in shooting him was reloading his bow, moving in for the kill. Thrusting his pain aside, he focused his fury on the enemy. Calling heavily on the foliage of the dark earth and the power of the sky, he quickly intensified the thunderstorm, camouflaging his presence in blinding explosions of white light.  
  
The dark, wet earth shuddered beneath him as vines grew, twisting and turning, crawling towards his attacker then up the bowman's legs, pinning the man to the spot. They grew, twisting and entangling relentlessly.  
  
The ensnared bowman howled an inarticulate cry as they tightened around his chest and neck, forming a garrote of living wood. The bow fell silently into the bracken as his hands flew to the strangulating obstruction. Desperate fingers clawed attempting to break the lethal hold, but the creepers continued to grow, racing around his neck again and again, tightening their murderous hold with each pass. A gurgling rattled signaled his demise beneath the animated wood.  
  
They held their grip for a moment longer, awaiting the cessation of movement, then receding back to the ground, leaving a trail of bloody welts along the dead man's body.  
  
Jareth was exhausted now, his strength draining away with each ferocious effort and the loss of blood. The din of another attack forced him into action.  
  
The gate was merely a few meters away, and she would be waiting for him on the other side. He called on the storm again, focusing his pain to strengthen his intent. At once the rain strengthened. Not lightly, but in torrential sheets, slashing from the sky, drenching the land and pelting the enemy, as if the heavens had opened up and was intent on drowning the lot. He tried to gain his feet, stumbling with fatigue and agony as his shoulder protested the movement.  
  
Terror seized her heart as she saw the events unfold before her eyes. The arrow lodging into his shoulder signaled the initial fulfillment of her premonition. An agonized cry of denial tore from her throat as she ran from her shadowed hiding place, towards him.  
  
He turned as her whispered sob caught his ears. Disbelief and anger rose in him but was quickly replaced by the utter terror he felt at the risk into which she had placed herself. Feeling her resolve and intention to save him, he turned to look at her, his heart in his eyes, fear for her safety clawing at his soul. He focused his remaining strength into an imperious command, imbedded with the strongest strength of compulsion he had ever issued. "Get through!! Now!!"  
  
The sight of her lover, soaking wet, weary, streaked with blood, his golden hair plastered to his head, nearly broke her heart. Pain sliced through her head, making her cry out as she fought the physical and mental demands of his order. Resolutely, she quickly closed the distance between them, and slipped her shoulder under his uninjured arm, assisting him to stand. His face twisted in agony as his wounded shoulder protested. She moved him to the keystone, her eyes widening in fear at the dimming light from within the circular opening.  
  
The gate was closing as fast as Jareth's magick and strength faded. She fumed as she deduced that the arrow head must have been forged with iron, one of the few substances that could harm the Sidhe and block their abilities. Determinedly, she committed to implementing her plan.  
  
Jareth was swiftly loosing consciousness and he sagged heavily against her as they reached the edge of the keystone. The portal could take only one person at a time, even when it was at full power. Now, in all likelihood, it would only permit one further transfer. However, she mused, there was more than one way to skin a cat.  
  
The Faeid key had been the Sidhe's gift to the humans who had chosen to help the ancient creatures in stewarding the land. Mortals possessed magick as great as the Sidhe's own, but frequently denied or underused their gifts due to fear. Those that had embraced their true land born nature were able to work with nature and could, with the attunement necessary from the key, control the gates.  
  
Generation after generation, it had been in Faeid possession, safe, respected and unabused. However, the key that had become the symbol to their cultures unity with man, was now the source of their undoing.  
  
The key would allow her to briefly activate the gate, if she could quickly reach the lock above the portal.  
  
Dragging his weakening form towards the flickering light of the threshold, she felt the burning sting of an arrow grazing her cheek. It shattered into sharp fragments as it impacted the granite surface of the stone, showering them with splinters. She had no time to weigh her options. The next volley would be more accurate. Speed and dexterity were risks she would need to bear.  
  
She caught his face and fastened her mouth on his unconscious one. She tasted his fear of loosing her, his anger at her disobedience, his love for her that had grown with every moment they had shared.  
  
Mind to mind, heart to heart, she filled him with the depth of her love for him. Assuring him that no matter what happened this night, she would always be with him. Completing him. In this life and the next. "Mind to mind, heart to heart, body to body" she repeated. They would always be that part of each other's soul that lived, loved and truly mattered.  
  
Reluctantly she lifted her head. "I'll see you soon." Her voice was low, strangled, as if she was choking on her anguish, as she recovered the necklace from his pocket.  
  
Placing it around her neck, she reached around his solid frame and obtaining the leverage she needed, pushed him into the portal. His form vanished with a flash of blinding white light, so intense that she stumbled back several paces.  
  
As she regained her vision, her heart ached as she saw that the portal was no longer illuminated. The gate had closed.  
  
"Sent him back to hell did ya?" The voice was behind her and dripping with venom and murderous intent. "You're going to take on us all by yourself?"  
  
"Actually, " retorting with feigned bravado, "I thought I would leave the rest of you sick chaps for more qualified hands to tear into tiny little shreds." She looked meaningfully at the ground, smirking coldly.  
  
He followed her gaze, astonishment crossing his features as he suddenly understood her implication. Beneath his feet, the ground slither, covering his boots in slimy mud. The snakes weaved their way quickly over and around feet, biting his ankles and legs, gouging mouthfuls of leather and flesh with they razor like teeth. Screaming as pain seared through his legs, he fell forward into the death squirming on the forest floor. Quickly the slithering coils encircled his body. They fed, bursting arteries and ripping flesh.  
  
Alerted by his cry, one of his men came towards his writhing body. The man jumped back suddenly as the snakes paused, reveling the gaping holes torn in the flesh of his now motionless leader. Thousands of black eyes turned towards him. Marking him. , the snakes slithered off the body and towards him as he backed away.  
  
Glancing behind her long enough to see that she had bought herself time and distance, she made a break for the gate. Launching her exhausted form backwards, she easily reached the stone.  
  
Delicate fingers deftly slid over the rough surface searching for the key hole, in which the Faeid stone would fit. Reactivating the gateway home was her only escape now and as the men closed in behind her, she drove on, frantically reaching higher on the keystone. "Where is it??" her mind screamed.  
  
The edge of the key hole suddenly scraped against her fingers, filling her with frenzied relief. Her free hand grasped the pendant tightly, cutting her palm on the sharp points of the star shaped setting. Her mind whirled; place the key; speak the words and she would be home in his arms.  
  
A shadow rose up next to her like an apparition, solidly blocking her path to the opening. Terror beat at her skull as her eyes fell on the weapon in his hand. Her heart pound like a trapped sparrow within her chest. Then the realization settled on her.  
  
There was no escape this time.  
  
Jareth's grief would be a living thing when he learned that she was gone. He would be a wounded animal, ready to tear and rend in retaliation.  
  
Sadly, the nature of their union would entrap his heart in grief, clouding his ability to love another until his death or in incarnate reunion within her next life.  
  
Swept with calm, struggling to show no fear, she slowly raised her head and faced her fate. In time, Jareth would see the wisdom of her course. He was the king. He knew the price of leadership was sacrifice. Despite his grief, he would go on. It was his way to fulfill his responsibilities despite circumstance or loss. Even one as intensely personal as this would be. Their people would rely on his solid constancy and leadership to recover from this holocaust and in return, they would he would have their understanding and support. For him, however, grief would never turn. It would hold him in this painfully eternal moment, until they loved again.  
  
The dark figure before her raised his swords high above his head.  
  
She closed her eyes, her hand reaching for the necklace. She prayed to the living spirit of the earth. Beseeching her to safely conceal her people, to help her lover though this loss, to aid their souls in their quest to be together again…..reunited….in the next life.  
  
Slowly she chanted the musical words of Jareth's ancient language, empowering the green stone with her enchantment. The words as ancient as time  
  
Mar a bha  
  
Mar a tha  
  
Mar a bhitheas  
  
Gu brath  
  
Ri Tragadh  
  
'S ri lionadh  
  
  
  
The mighty sword arm swiftly descended.  
  
A momentary arc of searing, white pain in her throat was quickly replaced by warmth and a calming sense of peace. Faintly she heard the tinkle of metal in the distance, as the necklace flew off her throat and landed in a crevice within the keystone.  
  
Vines quickly concealed the treasure deep within the safety of wood and stone.  
  
She repeated the prayer; chanting it over and over as she welcomed the glowing embrace of eternity……..  
  
As it was  
  
As it is  
  
As it shall be  
  
Evermore  
  
With the ebb  
  
With the flow 


	2. The Security of Home

Chapter 2  
  
The Security of Home  
  
A house where rain does not pour,  
  
A place where spear-points do not threaten,  
  
As bright as a garden but without a fence about it.  
  
--"Suibhne Gelt," anon. Irish triad.  
  
  
  
When all was said and done, Mara had to admit that being gifted with a sharp assertive tongue was, on occasion, one hell of a counterintuitive blessing. Not that it hadn't served her well in her 29 years. But, every now and then, the universe stepped in to show her just how truly unpredictable it's effect could be. Especially, when confronting the pigheaded determination of some yahoo trying to look good for the boss.  
  
Just such an example stood before her, in all his male arrogance, intensely fumbling through her dainties in her open suitcase. From the moment he had arrogantly snapped "Passport!" in a tone much louder than really necessary for the 3 feet between them, she foresaw that he would cause her no end of headache.  
  
Mara had initially figured that clearing customs couldn't be easier than this. After entering the terminal and retrieving her luggage, she approached a uniformed officer, and identified herself. His face lit up as he welcomed her nervously and directed her towards customs where she could clear her belongings.  
  
"Don't worry Ma'am. Just present your passport and papers to the clearance officer at the customs desk. The chap over there will have you on your way immediately." He'd advised.  
  
After thanking him and retrieving her bags, she walked purposefully towards the customs desk, following the officer's directions. Mara stopped as she arrived at the yellow and red station. Is shouldn't be long noting that she was the fourth passenger waiting in line for clearance. Setting her suitcase on the floor, she rubbed her aching fingers on her jeans, forcing circulation back into her tired fingers. After this 6 hour flight, her muscles ached for the soothing heat of a long hot bath. Mara sighed in anticipation of the relaxing warmth. Another four hours and she would be home visiting her grandmother then enjoying that secret luxury.  
  
Mara had been ten years old when she and her father had quickly left England. An ugly marital breakup had left her American born father anxious to leave English soil and his broken marriage behind him. With a quick word to a few friends back home, David had accepted a new job as assistant chief of the NYPD's drug squad. A position that would make excellent use of his 18 years of law enforcement experience and help the now single parent care for his young daughter.  
  
Mara's mother had insisted that David take Mara with him, stating that her new free footed lover refused to be saddled with the responsibility of a child. Dave suspected however that it was Lise who didn't want the responsibility for little Mara. After the divorce, there were no phone calls from her mother. No letters. Mara's letters returned to her unopened. Her father had been right. Abandoned by her mother, the little girl felt wounded her in a manner only known to the heart of a rejected child.  
  
Her grandmother, however, had kept in constant contact with her, calling her weekly, sending cards and cheques on her birthday and holidays. Money that Mara had judiciously deposited into her savings account, earmarking it for college. The Saturday morning phone call became ritual for Mara, who reveled in sharing her triumphs and defeats of the past week with Grammy Kate. Conversations about school and friends turning to in depth discussions about the opposite sex, as Mara entered her teens.  
  
Only once did Kate ever mention Lise during their telephone time. Mara had received a batch of unread letters earlier in the week and had been upset enough to set her mind to ask Kate why her mother refused to communicate with her. Sighing sadly, Kate reluctantly informed Mara that Lise refused to communicate with her either. Kate accepted Lise's wishes but confided in Mara that she prayed that her wayward daughter would come to her senses and return to the precious family she had turned her back on.  
  
Several years later she had overheard her father talking with her grandmother late on a Wednesday night. This was unusual, as Kate always called on Saturday mornings. She suspected something was wrong and snuck down the stairs, sitting on the bottom stair when she had heard Kate's tearful lilting accent. Her father had switched the call to the speakerphone as he prepared Mara's lunch for school. Kate was clearly shaken, her voice was thick with tears as she described the accident that had claimed the lives of Lise and her lover. Her father's pain filled sobs pulled Mara from her hiding place to his side. He gathered his crying child into his arms and cried with her. Afterwards, Mara's heart felt only sadness. Not the sadness of a child who had lost a mother, but the sadness for the grief of her grandmother who had lost her only child. For a man who still loved the woman who'd rejected him. Rejected both of them. Dead in a head on collision with a transport truck, the woman who had given birth to her and had spent the last 18 years emotionally distancing herself from her child, was gone.  
  
  
  
As time healed their loss, Mara became increasingly insistent to visit her grandmother. Regularly asked her father pleading for permission to travel to England. Each time, Dave would say no, citing that he couldn't get the time, or the trip was too expensive. Eventually, upon entering university, Mara secretly determined to go on summer vacation. However, to her disappointment, the resistance to her visiting continued. But this time, from Kate. She apologized profusely stating that she couldn't allow Mara to visit without her father's permission. Period. When Mara threatened to just show up on her doorstep, she was advised in no uncertain terms that she would be promptly sent home on the next plane and the phone calls would stop. She relented, accepting her grandmother's wishes. Perhaps that was one of the reasons she was so confused about this trip.  
  
When she was given the work assignment by her supervisor, he had advised her of the rumored origin of the initial request. Disbelieving, it was only after she had called her grandmother's home to tell her she would be arriving that Friday, that her suspicions were happily confirmed. Charles, her Grandmother's assistant had advised her that Lady Katherine had indeed been informed and was excitedly anticipating her arrival. "You will of course be staying at Stonycroft, and her Ladyship had instructed me to send a car to meet you upon arrival." He had informed her in a cheerful, accented voice.  
  
Four hours. Four hours and she would see her childhood home. Four hours until she hugged the woman who she had long though of as mother. Mara smiled softly, filled with increasing excitement.  
  
Her attention was abruptly drawn back into the present and to the activities of the inspection kiosk. The aggressive tone in inspecting officer's voice alerted her that something was amiss. He was clearing the first man in line and something in the young officers body language spoke of impending trouble.  
  
Quietly, she watched and listened. So much could be learned about a person or situation just through the simple act of judicious observation. It was a skill Mara had discovered she possessed early in childhood. A skill that helped her understand the silent animosity that had been between her parents in the years before their divorce. But this same skill, had been raw, unrefined. That is, before finishing her residency at Quantico, Virginia. Two years later, it was sharp. Focused. Attentive to the subtle cues of behavior. Automatically reading them and unlocking their hidden message of intent and motivation. Now, instincts on alert, Mara analyzed the situation detail by detail.  
  
The unsettled passengers ahead of her took their turns struggling to answer his sharp and increasingly aggressive questions. He rifled through their belongings, loosing bookmarks and upsetting clothing and pleasant demeanors as he invaded their personal space, regarding each person suspiciously through hooded brown eyes. He was certainly on the alert for something. Or someone. For who or what, she wasn't yet certain. His emotionless face intimidated. Frightened.  
  
An elderly lady protested as her medication was confiscated. Pursing her soft lips , Mara frowned. That was certainly unusual. Although prescription medications were often subject to closer inspection, if labeled with the patients name and providing that name did corresponded to the person possessing it, personal medications normally passed through.  
  
The grandmotherly woman's complaints landed on deaf ears as he escorted her towards an unmarked grey door, passing her off to another uniformed officer for further investigation of her "illegal narcotics". Mara shook her head ruefully, her dark brown hair brushing against her shoulders and neck as she anticipated the response of his supervisor once they discovered the officer's error.  
  
Looking closely, Mara could see that the young man was barely out of his teens. His striking brown eyes and youthful features must have caught the eyes of the young ladies. His athletic five foot, eight inch frame was loosely clothed in the crisp dark blue polyester of a spanking new customs uniform. He was likely, summer help. Many of the police authorities used summer help as work placements for college students. Seeking these well paying and prestigious jobs, student applications swamped the departments each spring. The successful applicants provided valuable help to over worked officers while they learned valuable skills and earned next years tuition.  
  
He seemed upset though. Dark circles under his eyes indicated to her that he hadn't slept well, recently. Condescending arrogance filled each word as he spoke to the passengers. He exuded an aura of authority that was pointedly aimed to intimidate those around him. He was acting like an ass, she surmised derisively. Mara had seen this before in her younger colleagues and new members of the team. Until some event occurred that caused their egos to hit the solid wall of reality, they always focused more about the power and perks of the position, than their sworn duty to serve the public. That attitude was dangerous. Especially here.  
  
Heathrow, as the hub for international flights into the European continent, serviced over 15.0 million passengers each year. Airlines from all parts of the globe regularly flew into this airport, making it both, a crucial portal for intercontinental transportation, and a major security risk.  
  
Security was tight and in many instances invisible by the traveling public. Hidden security cameras recorded faces of passengers passing through gates, buying tickets, retrieving luggage. Uniformed police peppered the building, providing additional surveillance and heightened the public's feeling of confidence in traveling. It was well known in law enforcement circles, that the British Customs Authority were led by retired military officers who insisted on the highest level of training and skill in their people. They demanded the best from their agents and in return received the efforts that made them the leaders in the business of airport safety and security. So, she pondered, shifting her briefcase to her other hand, what was happening here to prompt such behavior in this young officer?  
  
He probed and searched, asking the same question in different ways, grinning now and then at discomfort of the poor soul before him, as he tried to slip them up. As Mara moved closer to the head of the line, she sighed in disgust. She really saw no need for this level of aggression. He really appeared to be enjoying the game. Enjoying the sense of power from intimidating these people. Playing the proverbial "bad cop".  
  
Then she saw it. The glance. It was so quick she had almost missed it. Unblinking she stared at him. There it was again. Throughout the "inspections", his eyes would flit away from the passenger, to the wall behind them. But it wasn't just any look. In the brief seconds that his eyes were off the subject, he studied the wall with the intensity of a man committing information to memory. Just as abruptly, the mask of smirking arrogance would slide back into place as he focused back on the passenger. Quietly she continued to watch him. There. He did it again……And again??  
  
"How long will you be in Britain?" glance at the wall. "Visiting Family? You have a number and address where I can confirm this of course." Glance. "You have a receipt for this?" Glance. On and on it went.  
  
What the heck was he looking at, she wondered. You never took your eyes of a suspect during a clearance, whether they were on the street on in customs. Never. It was the golden rule of security. The moment you lost contact with that person's eyes, you lost your ability to see through a lie. Even good liars could only maintain the charade for short periods without giving some little sign. A twitch of the eyelid. A nervous glance sideways or to a hidden weapon. Critical signs that would be easily missed by any momentary inattentiveness to the subject before you.  
  
Although she couldn't see the contents of the wall from her place in the line, she decided to give the lad the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he was screening a list of VICAP alerts, flagging someone for pick-up if he or she attempted to enter the country. That would make sense and explain his judicious study of the wall.  
  
Information was exchanged on an hourly basis between U.S. law enforcement, intelligence, and service entities, as well as international law enforcement agencies through the FBI's Violent Criminal Apprehension Program, or VICAP. The computer alerts advised police of the whereabouts of violent offenders and other wanted individuals. Due to the surge in worldwide terrorism, many of the international transportation authorities had recently been added to the database with the intent of detaining suspected individuals as they moved through international airports.  
  
It had been a great success, much to the chagrin of the changes naysayers. In the past 6 months, several international and long sought after criminals had been apprehended by airport security while clearing customs due to the VICAP alerts.  
  
In one case, Louis François, a French national, linked with the militant group Terre National, had been identified and detained by Spanish customs agents within hours of bombing of the American Embassy in France. The explosion had ripped apart the southern wing of the 3 story building and claimed the lives of 22 US citizens, including the Ambassador's 12 year old daughter, Marie.  
  
Louis alleged that he was simply going on vacation abroad, yet the unemployed and smooth talking fanatic had no explanations for the appearance of $250,000, deposited into his savings account only hours before the attack. Money that had been quickly traced to a numbered Swiss account belonging to Terre National. However, it had been the video surveillance tapes that had secured his conviction on charges of terrorism. The images clearly recorded caught him parking the small, bakery truck in the embassy's delivery lot, a mere 10 minutes before the explosives hidden inside it had detonated. Now instead of basking in the sun of Costa del Sol, he sat in a French prison doing life.  
  
In all probability, such a police alert would likely be posted in a place out of the passenger's direct sight but, clearly within the visual field of the inspecting officer. He could be merely judiciously screening each passenger against the VICAP photographs. She discreetly turned around fiddling with the handle of her suitcase as she carefully and quickly scanned the passengers behind her for any hint of unusual activity.  
  
The older bearded gentleman immediately behind her, distractedly studied the business section of the Evening Standard, circling stock quotes with a red felt tipped pen. His thick eyebrows were pushed together in concentration. Well dressed, expensive suit, laptop, cell phone and beeper.  
  
Next was a young couple, whispering endearments to each other as they waited. Holding hands she gazed lovingly at the glittering diamond on her left hand then smiled at the young man. His eyes warmly regarded his wife as they exchanged that intimate smile of a man and woman in love. Mara smiled softly, feeling slightly envious of the couple's deep affection for each other.  
  
Behind the lovebirds, a tall raven haired man smiled as he made eye contact with her, telegraphing his interest in her loudly. He was devilishly good looking, longish hair, clear blue eyes, strong jaw, bohemian style attire of jeans and tee shirt, dress jacket and scarf. Artsy type, she deduced. He mouthed "What's the delay?"  
  
She smiled back, raising her slim shoulders and shaking her head in frustration at the delay. He nodded and smiled sympathetically in return. Everything seemed normal so far. So what had set the customs agent on such a high state of alert?  
  
A young mother two behind him, desperately struggled to hold onto her protesting son. The two year old wriggled and squirmed objecting to her efforts to keep him in her arms and rebuking the toys she handed him. From the exasperated grimace on her face, she was clearly at her wits end. Chocolate appeared from a wrinkled hand behind her, instantly calming the irate toddler. Mom graciously thanked her elderly benefactor, who smiled kindly and tousled the boy's blond curls. "Memo to me,", Mara chuckled, making a mental note. Chocolate sooths the savage beast.  
  
"Next!" came the sharp call from the young inspector. As she turned back, the young bohemian cast her another sympathetic smile and gave her the thumbs up sign for luck. Mouthing "thanks", her full lips curving into a smile that lit up her beautiful face. Quickly she settled into her professional calm for this encounter.  
  
As she approached the table, she discreetly glanced at the mysterious wall. Momentary disbelief struck. No "Wanted" posters covered it. Not a single photograph was in sight. Instead, it was her own slim reflection greeting her. Confusion fuddled through her brain as she started the mental acrobatics of figuring in this new piece of data.  
  
Looking at him, she followed his eyes as they passed over her shoulder, to the mirror behind her and caught his appreciative smirk as he admired his own image in the glass. Turning back and pointedly clearing her throat, she leveled him a stern glare.  
  
Face flushing with embarrassment that he'd been discovered, he tore his gaze away from the mirror, eyes narrowing in anger as they looked at her. "Passport." He barked sharply.  
  
"So much for benefit of doubt." she whispered under her breath derisively as she lifted her suitcase and attaché on the table before him. The metal clasps clicked sharply as she unsnapped the fasteners and retrieved the thick envelope of documents. "My travel authorization, items list, and ID are enclosed as well." Smiling tightly and maintaining eye contact, she extended her credentials for inspection, while repressing the urge to box his ears.  
  
He snatched the packet from her fingers while openly appraising her slim, attractive body. Mara tucked a stray chestnut lock behind her ear, a movement that was wholly feminine and unconsciously sexy. Heat flushed in her cheeks as she felt his leering stare move upwards over her denim covered legs, and slim hips. The blatant hunger in his narrowed eyes as they settled on the cleavage of her open collar started her stomach churning with nausea. She wasn't the type of woman to be bullied by a harassing fool. Perhaps a discrete word to his supervisor was in order.  
  
Smile fading as quickly as her control on her temper, she cleared her throat, her face now cold and disdainful as his eyes rose to her face again. His mouth twitched as he repressed a smirk. His eyes dared her to reproach him. Up close he had a spoiled, petulant look twisting his boyish good looks. She sensed something else, a sick excitement as he rummaged though her belongings. Somehow she sensed that she figured into his perverse daydreams. Fantasies of control and submission to his self perceived power.  
  
Mara bristled. Neglecting his duties was one thing. Being openly rude to passengers was another. Behavior bordering on sexual harassment, well that was three strikes. Discretion be dammed. Perhaps a dressing down in front of his supervisor would teach him a thing or two about respect.  
  
Placing her unopened passport and credentials on the wooden table, he opened her suitcase, moving next to her, crowding her too close. Fingering roughly through her bra's and panties he asked, "How long will you be visiting England?" while not raising his head from his task. Was it her imagination or did his accented voice take on a condescending tone just then?  
  
She was never one to walk away from a challenge. "I suppose that will vary greatly on how long it takes me to finish here." retorting with forced pleasantness and a tight smile on her beautiful face.  
  
His fingers stilled suddenly as his cold grey eyes rose up to her deep blue orbs. "It will take as long as necessary. I am searching for dangerous goods." He announced threateningly. "You bloody Americans think you run the world! But, now you are in my country and right here," he slapped the table loudly with his hand, "I am the law."  
  
"So I see. Please..." extending her elegant hand to her luggage in invitation, Mara inhaled deeply, calming herself, choosing not to respond to his insult. Deciding that a nice long chat with his supervisor was defiantly in order, she held her tongue further and let the man complete his search.  
  
10 minutes later, it was obvious that she had upset him. Every piece of clothing had been thoroughly fondled, her novel opened, loosing both the bookmark, and the place she had left off as the plane had landed. Her pens were opened, inspected then tossed piecemeal back into her attaché. Her makeup, opened, then dumped akimbo within her case. Neatly folded clothing had been roughly removed to the table while he searched the linings of her case, then unceremoniously dumped back in a wrinkled heap.  
  
He even rifled through files marked "confidential" in her briefcase, reading material he had no professional need to know, yet still searching everything for that one elusive piece of evidence that proved beyond a doubt that she was some kind of security risk. Everything, except the papers that should matter to him. They sat, dismissed, on the table. Next he'd have her strip searched. Enough was enough.  
  
"Look," she stated calmly, "the only thing I'm importing that could possibly be termed "dangerous" is my temper, sir. We, "motioning towards the people waiting behind her, "have all had a very long flight, in cramped seats and I am sure that we have been all quite amused by standing here watching you admire your reflection while you joyfully finger your way through my Victoria's Secret's." She smiled inwardly as his jaw dropped open in disbelief. "I personally would be extremely grateful to you for finishing this job or confiscating my "contraband" she said, disgusted, picking up a pair of silk panties that had fallen to the floor, and tossing them back into the case, "and sending me on my way." She heard the sudden silence behind her as the ears of her fellow passengers perked up attentively.  
  
"Another word out of your trap, Missy and I'll charge you with threatening an officer of the law." He smirked arrogantly, his tone threatening as he loudly added, "Nothing gets by me."  
  
Anger flared inside her at his threat. "Somehow I really believe that things don't get by you…."glancing at the name on his tag"...Don." she replied calmly with no trace of emotion on her face. Nothing held such disconcerting power as being insulted by name. "No, I think they tend to smack into your forehead with great, resonating *THUND!* sort of sound, and then drop to your feet, where you will proceed to look at them with the intense sort of scowl that a monkey might regard a football while trying to determine whether to try to copulate with it or throw feces at it."  
  
Snickers and repressed giggles broke out behind her, as the now attentive crowd made it clear that they had been listening absorbedly. "Now, I suggest you do your job and review my documents or find someone with a week or more experience to help you out." She suggested firmly.  
  
He flushed slightly, his eyes gleaming. He grabbed her arm tightly, his fingers biting into muscle, bruising tissue. "That's it! I'll not listen to any more of your smart mouth. Come with me." he snarled, pulling her towards an unmarked door.  
  
As she deftly shrugged off his hand, she started to reply "Look, just examine my—" but never finished. He roughly grabbed her wrist backwards, pulling hard and painfully twisting it behind her back. Mara's shoulder and elbow burst in searing pain as he shoved her over the table face first into the open suitcase. The sudden movement bunching the fabric of her leather jacket upwards, revealing the black metal of the Browning 9 mm that was safely enclosed within the leather holster at her waist..  
  
His eyes went wide with alarm as he screamed, "GUN!! Get down! GET DOWN!" and pushed her harder into the table. Yells and screams exploded from the crowd behind them as the passengers dashed to conceal themselves behind each other while police poured into the small area, weapons drawn. Ready for a confrontation.  
  
"Oh my God!"  
  
"Oh Jesus!"  
  
"..on the plane!"  
  
"EVERYBODY GET DOWN!!" he screamed again.  
  
"I wi the buro!" she choked out as the edge of her suitcase pushed into her throat, cutting off air, making her voice a hoarse, incoherent rasp. Her lungs screamed for air, as she pushed her head and chest back to release her neck from the obstruction.  
  
Thinking she was struggling to get free, he started to push down harder, as the table was swarmed with police and customs officers. His weight lifted momentarily as she felt the cool metal of handcuffs snap snuggly over her wrists.  
  
Weapon confiscated, she was lead off choking and coughing, towards the unmarked grey door, as she fought to remember how to breath.  
  
Nope, she thought ironically, sometimes it just didn't pay to be assertive.  
  
OK: Please. R&R. Your feedback is very important to me. They will help me get the next and nearly finished piece out much faster. 


	3. Identity

Mara's throat protested again, as she swallowed the cold water offered by the balding man sitting across from her. Inspector MacDonald was clearly upset about the events. His face had been set in a grim displeasure since arriving through the door of the detainment room. After all, she mused, it wasn't every day that Scotland Yard was called in to interrogate a possible terrorist. After being "escorted" into the unadorned white room, she had identified herself to the uniformed constable, giving him her badge number and field office supervisors contact information. After initially regarding her with blunt incredulity, he brusquely advised her to sit down and wait patiently for the investigating officer's arrival. He would collect her luggage and documents and verify her story.  
  
Mara thanked him, then sat uncomfortably, the metal of the handcuffs pulling at her protesting elbow and shoulder. Five minutes after her arrival, the tall detective arrived and regarded her momentarily, questioning the reports he had been given by the customs officers. She certainly didn't look dangerous, much less the threat alluded to by the customs agent. But looks were often deceiving and he did have the gun and the statements of the other passengers, who even now, were giving statements to his staff.  
  
She straightened up, wincing as the pain from her arm arced through her body.  
  
"I don't think we'll be needing these any longer." his voice held a slight brogue as he moved behind her. The cold metal encircling her wrists loosed, as he unlocked and slipped off the handcuffs.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Mara moved her shoulder, rubbing the offended joint with her uninjured hand. "Thank you." She stated, her voice hoarse. Wrapping her long slender fingers around the styrofoam cup she lifted the water to her lips and sipped cautiously.  
  
His facial expression was flat as he slipped into the metal chair on the other side of the table. "Miss Forsythe, I'm Inspector MacDonald of Scotland Yard." He sighed heavily, as though he would rather be anywhere else but here. "I understand that you were involved in some trouble in customs today. Perhaps you would like to tell me your side of the story."  
  
It was not a request. Silence followed. This was a tactic she was familiar with and had often used herself. Silence flustered the emotions, stirred the conscience and jarred guilt. He sat staring at her, waiting for a response.  
  
"Yes, well, it seems that Don and I couldn't agree on the concept of probable cause. When I disagreed with his heavy handed tactics, he objected." She retorted levelly, maintaining eye contact as she spoke. "He seemed to take my objection rather. personally." A sharp rap on the door sounded as she sipped again at her ice water.  
  
A smile twitched the corner of his thin lips as he stood and quickly moved to meet the uniformed officer coming into the room.  
  
"Her story checks out, Sir." Mara's black leather wallet containing her badge and identification card was handed open to MacDonald. He examined the ID closely. Dark eyebrows crumpled together in frank disbelief as he looked to her, then back at the photo. "I'll just be a moment." He muttered, excusing himself as he quickly left the room with his uniformed colleague.  
  
"At last. We're getting somewhere." she murmured.  
  
Twenty minutes later, he returned with another glass of ice water and a profound look of annoyance on his rugged face. Plopping her passport, papers and badge onto the table, he seated himself across the small table from Mara, and smiled tightly as he offered her the cup.  
  
"Thanks." Gratefully, she accepted the water, grimacing as the cold liquid soothed her inflamed throat, alleviating the pain pounding from the bruised tissue.  
  
MacDonald frowned, "Special Agent Forsyth, It is customary for foreign law enforcement officers, who are traveling abroad on official purposes, to identify themselves as such upon arrival in customs. It's a quaint little rule, but one that seems to deter unfortunate incidents such as this." his pained tone matched the exasperation on his face.  
  
"I did." She replied firmly. "Twice as I recall. The first officer directed me to the customs kiosk. However, once there, Don was so preoccupied with my lingerie, that he totally dismissed my passport and travel authorization forms. I repeatedly asked him to look at the documents." She ran her fingertips over the edge of the cup as she watched Inspector MacDonald's face twist again in disgust. "I'll take it, from the look on your face, that this isn't the first time he's caused an incident.."  
  
"Unfortunately you would be correct in that. Bugger." He sat back in the chair, his finger and thumb squeezing the bridge of his thin nose, unsuccessfully attempting to ward off the massive headache building therein.  
  
This was quite the legal tempest in a teapot. He needed to diffuse the situation immediately before it flared into legal action against the department. It seemed odd to him that the agent would deter from normal inspection processes without some justifiable cause. Don had only recently joined the department and was well known for his "vigorous inspections" and dislike of assertive women.. So well known, in fact, that he had earned himself a probationary period. This unpredictable young man had assured the Superintendent that he would improve his work performance and people skills, and thus had kept his job. Until now.  
  
Despite the telephone conversation with Don's protesting father, Lord Ashbury, the consequences of his actions could no longer be avoided. With further discussion of the additional legal possibilities, an agreement was abruptly reached. MacDonald's instructions were clear. Don would accept his dismissal, if she did not press assault charges. But would she accept such a deal, he pondered.  
  
Although the woman in front of him was beautiful, he doubted that it would have unnerved Don enough to manhandle her. Mara Forsyth had an ethereal, quality he couldn't quite explain. Her voice was beautiful, but her eyes captivated. You could drown in eyes like those. Bedroom eyes. He had never really understood the term before, until he looked into her eyes. This woman was enough to distract any man from lucid thought.  
  
Perhaps Don had become unnerved by this assertive women. She'd certainly knocked him down a peg or two during her verbal reprimand of his actions. "Do you think perhaps that you did something to prompt his behavior." He asked, anticipating her reaction.  
  
She was genuinely shocked. Was he actually inferring that she had caused this? "Perhaps I was a bit rude to him when he insulted me." Mara countered, keeping a tight rein on her temper. "But, our little friend's overzealous behavior stepped way over the boundaries of harassment and dereliction of duty. That kid had no idea what he was doing, and dismissed normal inspection processes for his own heavy handed style." She declared certain of her facts.  
  
"We have already established that." He agreed. "I spoke with the other passengers who vouched for your story about his conduct. I would like to formally extend our apology to you on the behalf of Heathrow and the Customs Agency. This situation was handled totally wrong." She could clearly see that he meant it, felt his genuine regret. "The young lad has been dismissed and will not be causing further problems here."  
  
She gathered herself quickly. "Thank you Detective. Perhaps he'll learn from this experience." She offered.  
  
He snorted with disgust. "Somehow I don't think so." He stated shaking his head sadly. That lad? He couldn't imagine Don ever learning from his mistakes. Not with his parents constantly protecting him. His employment record was proof of that fact. "Do you know, that you are the second person I've had to interview from this flight?"  
  
A soft smile curved her full mouth. "Let me guess, An elderly lady on diltiazam. Don thought it was dilaudid?" Mara's eyes looked at him meaningfully.  
  
His eyebrows shot up. "To quote an American term, Bingo!" he grinned at her, shaking his head in derision. "Bloody sot confused a common heart medication for a controlled narcotic."  
  
The error was one her father had to constantly correct in his first year after assuming his position with the drug team. Drug pushers often replaced the common heart medication with the potent narcotic hoping to get their disguised stashes into the US from Canada and Mexico. An anonymous tip to the DEA had quickly spread throughout the law enforcement community, leading to a surge in confiscations of the heart drug by drug enforcement units. Despite their diligence, only 4 percent of all seizures were confirmed replacements. In two of the most blatant instances the possessors had been young men, nowhere fitting the medical indications for the cardiac drug. Several of the mistaken cases however, had immediately filed lawsuits, insisting that the actions of the narcotic officers had caused dangerous side effects. Her father had grumbled about it during dinner one night. Then, being the proactive soul that he was, immediately instituted a department wide education program to prevent further blunders. "He missed the drug enforcement lecture?" she teased, watching him through laughing blue eyes.  
  
"Must have. Missed the class on inspection process and probable cause, as well." He retorted. She was even more lovely when she smiled. No, not lovely, breathtaking. "Do you know that we have had 15 complaints submitted against him in 3 days. I'm not entirely certain but it must be some type of record." He laughed.  
  
"And you are the lucky soul who gets to respond to these complaints?"  
  
"Unfortunately, yes. I owe you a great deal of thanks. I can now close 15 complaint files with one rubber stamped "He's been sacked." He chuckled. "Good riddance to bad rubbish and all."  
  
"No one was hurt in all the commotion, I hope?" she recalled the terrified screams of her fellow passengers as they attempted to hide from a possible firefight. Panicked skirmishes often caused terrible injuries as people sought to flee the danger for safety.  
  
"Luckily, no. Just a few frayed nerves. It's all straightened out now. We had moved the witnesses into the lounge and explained that it was a case of mistaken identity. Well, needless to say, they were all quite relieved to learn that you were a police officer."  
  
Mara closed her eyes, relieved at his news. "Good." She smiled softly, pushing her hair behind her ear.  
  
His eyes followed the curiously innocent gesture. He'd give Don this. The lad had been right in his physical description of this woman. The more time he spent with her, the more he had to admit that she was incredibly beautiful. Her high delicate cheekbones, small nose and lush lips were set in a face of damask perfection. But those eyes. It was the deep blue of her eyes that had immediately caught his attention. Intelligence burned in their sapphire depths and held the promise of untapped passion and.... Snapping out of his distracted stupor, he blinked quickly asking, "So, what do we owe the pleasure of your visit to our humble isle? I assumed from your documents that you're on some form of official business. Or, do you often carry your weapon on vacation?" His teased  
  
She laughed softly, low and amused, "Actually it is a bit of both. I was asked to consult on a homicide case in the town of Albright. My Grandmother lives just outside of the town and apparently slipped a recommendation to the wife of the chief inspector during their weekly bridge game. She seemed to think that my past experience with this sort of case might help them solve this one. Personally," She confided, leaning closer to him, her eyes lit with mischief, "I think it was a ploy to get me to visit."  
  
He lifted his head and laughed. "Grandmothers are devious like that." Thoughtfully he tapped the table with his index finger, the smile still playing on his face. "Albright..Forsythe..you wouldn't be related to Lady Katherine Forsythe, the Duchess of Prescott?"  
  
Mara's eyes widened, a slow smile curving her soft mouth. "Yes, Kate is my Grandmother."  
  
Shaking his head, his face beamed. "My family has property about thirty kilometers south of Albright. We're practically neighbors."  
  
She smiled warmly at him, realizing that this MacDonald must have been related to the MacDonalds whose property bordered Stonecroft, her Grandmother's estate. Both estates had been in the family for hundreds of generations, and had, in centuries past, been the bitter adversaries of frequent contentious land disputes over ownership of a large parcel of land. The courts had repeatedly agreed that the hill was indeed on Forsythe lands and therefore, legally a part of Stonecroft. But it wasn't the land value the MacDonalds had wanted.  
  
Upon the disputed hill stood the thirteen standing stones of Men Scrafa. It was a peaceful place. A place that Kate had once fondly described as "untouched by time." Mara recalled the fond memories of pick nicks on the hill with her Grandmother. Playing games of tag, and hide and seek amongst the stones. Where the living voice of the land could be heard whispering to you if you stood still and quietly listened. It was her favorite childhood play site, holding the anchor of her fondest memories. A world of imaginary magical creatures and playmates who would avidly listen to her troubles and ease the loneliness of a little girl.  
  
Unfortunately, the MacDonald's didn't see the land in quite the same light. To them it was a source of income. A historical relic to be corded off, tolled and opened to visitors. Mara shuddered inwardly, at the thought of her beloved stones being turned into a tourist attraction. It defamed the work of those who created the spot, of its own honor. It was part of her family's heritage, as her Grandmother frequently reminded Mara.  
  
Kate had the responsibility of caring for the land and the ancient ring of stones, as had Kate's father, and his father before him. Each generation of Forsythe had been responsible for the land and had respected its ancient, mysterious secrets for hundreds of generations. This would not change while Kate lived. Not for money, land or title. The MacDonalds would just have to accept it.  
  
Sensing his relaxed manner at the topic, Mara laughed softly at him. "So we must be. Though, you should know. I haven't been home in almost 20 years."  
  
"Well, that was England's loss Agent Forsythe." She was returning home after twenty years at the request of her elderly grandmother. He found his admiration for this woman growing. Loyal, intelligent and beautiful, he appreciatively concluded. Indeed it had been their loss. His voice took on a serious note as his smile faded. "I am, of course, going to need to know if you wish to press charges against Don."  
  
The young man had lost his job. That in itself would be a wake up call. She shook her head. "No. No charges. And please. Just call me Mara."  
  
"Of course.Mara." He liked the sound of her name on his tongue. "Well then, I think we're done here. I wouldn't want to add further delay Her Ladyships plans for her lovely Granddaughter." He teased, handing back her belongings. "Your weapon. Documents. Ah yes, your luggage."  
  
Tucking her documents and passport into the side flap of her attaché case, she retrieved her gun and deftly checked the clip. Satisfied that it was untouched, she snapped the clip back into place, flipped the safety to "on" and replaced the weapon in her holster at her slim waist.  
  
As he walked Mara to the door, he watched her move with a fluid grace, innocently sexy. He shook his head as he held the door for her. Another uniformed officer turned a questioning eye to his supervisor. "Please assist Special Agent Forsythe to the side entrance." Turning to Mara, he added, "I had taken the liberty of asking one of our officers to drive you into your Hotel."  
  
Mara flashed him a smile, completely unaware of the chaos she was causing within him. "Thank you so much, but it won't be necessary. I understand that my Grandmother sent a car down for me, but thank you for your thoughtfulness Inspector MacDonald." Her suitcase was deposited on a luggage cart.  
  
MacDonald grinned, extending his hand. "It's Brian. Again, I apologize for the delay. Good luck on the case, and please find some time to enjoy your stay."  
  
She accepted his proffered hand, returning his handshake with a firm grip. "I'm sure Kate will have something in mind. Thanks again, Brian." Smiling warmly one last time and gathering her belongings, she turned away and started towards the passenger loading entrance.  
  
Brian watched her retreating form moving through the crowd with flowing grace. Blinking back to the present, he realized that the two uniformed guards next to him had also been mesmerized by the young woman. Pointedly he cleared his throat, abruptly drawing their attention back to him. "Back to work, chaps."  
  
The first turned quizzical eyes on his boss as they walked back to the security office. "Why don't we get to work with women like that on our shift, Sir?"  
  
"She could coax a confession out of me with just a smile." The second agreed. Eyes widening mischievously, he exhaled a low meaningful whistle  
  
Brian stopped in his tracks, casting both men a withering stare. "Gentlemen.." he sighed with annoyance. "..Don't start."  
  
*** 


	4. Enter Puck

As Mara walked to the loading zone her excitement steadily increased. Unfamiliar faces stood near the doors, brightening as they're eyes located the person they waited to meet. As yet, she had not encountered Charles. Despite the delay she had encountered, Kate's assistant would surely have waited for her. Mara scanned the area again, looking for the older man's face.  
  
"Mara?" A familiar lilting voice sounded softly behind her.  
  
Her heart suddenly stopped then started thudding maddeningly in her chest. Turning slowly Mara excitement was quickly replaced by happiness and love for the beloved white haired woman who stood in front of her. "My God. Gram….." she sighed, hugging Kate tightly. Mara felt the tears fill her eyes as she savored her Grandmother's hug. After all these years, her arms still held the peacefulness and comfort of home. Slowly the stress of the day spilled over. Her bottom lip trembled as she smiled through tears. "I've missed you so much."  
  
Kate's hand stroked Mara's hair with the same Grandmotherly gentleness she had used when she had comforted her as a child. "I know Poppet. I know." She hushed. Several moments later, Kate handed her a tissue, regarding her lovingly as Mara dabbed at her eyes.  
  
Always looking younger than her stated age, Kate held her 74 years well. Immaculately attired, she looked every bit the elegant, noblewoman that Mara remembered from childhood. A silver cane was firmly grasped in Kate's wrinkled hand, although she didn't appear to be leaning on it heavily. Still she seemed frailer than Mara remembered. Evidently, time had taken a toll on her in some ways. Thinking that the long trip would be too difficult for Kate, she immediately felt concerned to see her here. "You look wonderful. I never dreamed that you would meet me here yourself. It's such a long drive. " She breathed anxiously.  
  
Kate's eyes rolled heavenwards. "Oh, fiddlesticks it is." She quipped. "Charles did voice his concern, but to be quite honest with you, Darling," Her soft hand cupped Mara's silky cheek as she smiled, glowing with happiness. "I just couldn't wait."  
  
The familiar odor of peppermint oil met Mara's nose, flooding her mind with memories and feelings she'd long tucked away. Memories of massaging the soothing oil onto Kate's aching hands, as her grandmother recited bedtime stories. Tales of fairies and dragons, brave knights and beautiful lands. Snuggled in her bed at night, she would inhale the fragrance as the remnants of the oil clung to her hands and fall asleep with her Grandmother's aura surrounding her. Kate's finger brushed a stray lock of silky hair from Mara's brow. "You have grown into such a lovely young woman."  
  
Hugging her grandmother again she whispered. "God, I can't tell you how much I've missed you. Missed Stonycroft…."  
  
Holding Mara's hand she gently led her towards the coffee shop. "Come on then, we should be heading home soon Dear. Charles is collecting a young friend of the family. He will be traveling home with us as well." She said pleasantly.  
  
"Really?" Mara felt a momentary pang of guilt at her initial reaction to the thought of this strangers intrusion into her personal time with her grandmother. Kate had said he was a friend of the family. She was a big girl now. She could share.  
  
"Yes Dear. William Foxborough is an anthropologist. He's been writing a historical study on Men Scrafa for me. Wonderfully handsome young lad. Very intelligent. Cambridge Graduate as well." Innocently she added as though an afterthought, "He's also single. Just like you, Dear."  
  
Now it was Mara's turn to roll her eyes. "Gram, I have been in the country for less than a day, and you're already playing the matchmaker?" she retorted, suspiciously regarding her Grandmother. "A relationship with a man is the farthest thing from my mind right now."  
  
Kate turned, her face expressing mock offence. "Did I say that? No. I was just pointing out some of his more notable qualities. Ah! There they are." Smiling broadly, Kate waved a hand towards the approaching crowd.  
  
An older white haired gentleman, waved back as he chatting animatedly with someone concealed by the dense crowd. Charles' smile clearly revealed that he was enjoying the conversation. Mara assumed that it was this William, Kate had referred to. As they approached the crowd thinned, reveling the subject, Kate had described as a family friend. Mara felt the touch of his grey eyes as she smiled warmly recognizing the young raven haired bohemian from the customs line. His eyes responded, twinkling in recognition and mischief. Mara's cheeks flushed red as she realized he had witnessed the entire awful event. He was sure to mention it. Suddenly she felt the bottom drop out of her stomach.  
  
She didn't want her Grandmother upset at such a silly incident. Glancing at Kate meaningfully, she shook her head almost imperceptibly, clearly pleading her request for discretion. One dark eyebrow raised in acknowledgement of her unspoken request.  
  
Mara gave momentary consideration to kicking him in the shin if he embarrassed her in front of Kate. His eyes suddenly were alight with mischief, as though he had read her thoughts. Mara's eyes pleaded her case as Kate hugged the young man warmly. "Welcome home, Will. I would like you to meet Mara, my Granddaughter." Turning to Mara. "Darling, this is William."  
  
His grey eyes teased as he accepted her extended hand. "Hello again. It's a pleasure to finally meet in person, the young lady that I've heard so much about recently." Gently he raised her hand to lips as he lightly pressed a kiss to her knuckles. His action surprised Mara. It was old world, courtly. Unsettling.  
  
"Oh how lovely. You've met." Kate chimed happily.  
  
"Yes," he beamed, "while waiting in customs. Your Granddaughter's charming personality just draws people to her." He confided to Kate. Her grandmother smiled as she watched the introduction, happily oblivious to the double meaning of William's statement. His smooth, pleasant voice made it clear that he intended to torment her despite her unspoken request.  
  
Deciding that she would defiantly kick him when she got him alone, she pulled her hand free of his fingers. "I'm sure you're overstating things just a bit." Mara insisted.  
  
"Not at all, I assure you."  
  
Kate accepted Williams arm as he assisted her towards the black limousine parked outside the terminal. Mara seethed as the two acted like old friends. "How was your trip Dear? Kate asked.  
  
"Fairly routine," he started, then thoughtfully added, "Until the excitement at the very end." His perfect white smile appeared as he opened the door and assisted her into the vehicle.  
  
She'd kill him. One more word and they'd be dragging her back to New York in chains. A small humorless smile curved her soft mouth as her injured shoulder protested the weight of her suitcase. The pain adding to the reminder her of her recent embarrassment. She glared at his back wishing he'd vanish.  
  
Interest piqued, Kate looked up, "Good heavens, Will. What happened." her face prompting for the gossip.  
  
His voice was cool and even, yet Mara's mouth went dry with fear. This was it. He was going to spill it all. Perhaps if she bribed him. "Some commotion or another about a criminal. Turned out to be nothing more than a simple case of mistaken identity." He replied smoothly dismissing the details.  
  
Kate's face relaxed in relief. "Thank goodness it wasn't serious." Kate poked her head outside the door asking, "Did you see the incident Mara? My Granddaughter is with the FBI." She beamed proudly at William who's feigned surprise was deceitfully well acted.  
  
"Yes Gram. It was quickly cleared up. No harm done." She nodded, trying to look agreeable, while she glared at him, conveying menace far better than most could with angry words.  
  
He crossed his arms across his chest frowning at her explanation and pushed further. "I certainly don't know about that. As I recall, that person will have a sore shoulder for a week or more." He walked past her and deposited his bag into the open trunk, then held out his hand towards her suitcase. His eyes glittered mischievously. "Can I help you with those Mara?" William volunteered.  
  
"No. Thank you. I can manage just fine.  
  
"Of course." There was a small telling silence as William's head danced with all kinds of ideas to torment her. His plotting interrupted by the beckoning finger of his intended target.  
  
Moving to the trunk he watched her take a deep calming breath. "I would prefer that we drop this discussion about the customs incident." She asked, her tone firm, commanding.  
  
"You would."  
  
"Yes. I see no need for my Grandmother to become upset hearing all the gory details." Mara gave a little sigh. Surely the man would listen to reason.  
  
"But details are so much fun." He looked playfully unrepentant.  
  
Mara closed the trunk, regretting that she hadn't locked his sarcastic butt in with the luggage. He was worse than having a little brother. She had been around her friends long enough to see the teasing they endured and was thankful for the reprieve. She leveled an icy stare at him. "I mean it. Not another word from you about it."  
  
Will though about this then nodded his head. "Agreed, but it will cost you dinner."  
  
"What!" She demanded. Sounding rather haughty, she put on her best official face. "Do you know that attempting to blackmail a Federal Agent is a felony."  
  
He found himself smiling again at her. She was beautiful, but angry she was breathtaking. He couldn't resist. "This isn't blackmail. No. Just a friendly agreement between friends."  
  
"Just a friendly agreement! You arrogant—" she snapped resentfully. He gave a lazy shrug.  
  
"Are you two coming?" Kate's voice drifted from the car, abruptly reminding Mara that they weren't alone.  
  
He laughed softly. "Temper, temper. Well?" he grinned devilishly.  
  
"Fine. Dinner. But not another word!" She couldn't imagine what karmic debt she was repaying to have earned four hours in a closed car with this tormenting trickster.  
  
He attempted innocence. "I will be the picture of discretion." His grey eyes were laughing, belying his words. She was perfect. Absolutely perfect. 


	5. Truces and Irritations

Chapter 3  
  
Irritations I went to the hill and I got it. I sat on the knoll and I sought it. And if I would get it I would leave it. Since I did not, I took it with me. (A thorn in the foot.) --Scottish Gaelic riddle  
  
  
  
History has its own unique way of leaving it's mark upon a land and a civilization. Years come and go, leaving behind the evidence attesting to the centuries of human struggles with the land and with one another. A lengthy heritage etched in the stones. The blood and sweat of those who built, labored, fought, and died in their shadow now memories, at best made legend, but sadly, more often forgotten.  
  
As the car pulled into the gravel drive and proceeded down the hall, she was silent. Quietly, Mara remembered images of similar trips flashing before her eyes as she watched the line of manicured rhododendrons lining the road blur by.  
  
Absently she stared into the distance as the vehicle slowed, coming to a gentle stop before the stone façade that lead to the ornate doors of the estate house. Stoneycroft had been in her family's possession since its construction in 1605. The original house had been small by comparison to its present dimensions. The vast package of prime land had been a gift from King James I, to young Phillip Forsythe, for his actions saving the King's life during an assassination attempt.  
  
Legend had it that Phillip had foreseen the attempt days before the planned date and had alerted the King's guard to the plan. Initially, Phillip had been suspected of being in league with the assassins, but was mysteriously cleared by an unnamed party after the threat was passed. As a reward for his loyalty to the Crown, the young man was elevated to the King's Court and given charge of the security of Stonycroft.  
  
This had been her family's home for generations. Their duty to protect the lands and people who resided on then was never questioned, in fact the Forsythe's embraced it. Even during the times when it weighed heavily or usurped the pursuit of more leisurely activities.  
  
Mara suppressed a sigh, hoping that the case could be quickly solved. The shameless lushness of the forest glens and pastures at mid summer had pulled her thoughts away from her companions, calling her. Tempting her to explore her favorite childhood places. To kick of her shoes and run in the meadow. She could almost feel the cool moss beneath her feet, hear the crystalline patter of the brook water caressing the stones, smell the heather and violets that peppered the open fields.  
  
"Mara, You're home." Will stood outside of the car with his leather gloved hand extended to assist her out of the vehicle. The look in his eyes expressed a range of emotions. Amusement, concern and puzzlement.  
  
She returned to herself with a start. "I'm sorry," I was a million miles away." The slight motion of Will's hand reminded her that she continued to sit in the car. Blushing red, she quickly exited, accepting his assistance. The desire to reconnect with her home would need to wait. Presently, they were overridden by her sense of duty to solve the case before her.  
  
Kate smiled sympathetically. "Understandably. Coming home can have that affect on a person, dear." Gently taking her granddaughter's offered arm, she was carefully led her up the steps to the main hall of the estate.  
  
The brilliant colours of sunlight reflecting through the stained glass windows of the house bathed the interior in an ocean of soothing color. As they walked into the Main Hall, Mara smiled as the pallet of soft lights danced over her skin, caressing her with a dappling warmth as the light refracted of the crystalline chandelier gracing the vaulted ceiling. A gentle breeze blew through the open patio doors, setting the crystal prisms a sway in their setting.  
  
She had always loved this room. This had been the room of the dancing fairies. Make believe creatures of light, that would waltz around the room with her, pulling on pigtails and ribbons and dancing through the lush foliage of the ivy's and ferns that adorned the antique side tables and wall cornices, as the graceful cords of Strauss lilted throughout the room, echoing off of the stone walls and delicate glass windows.  
  
The richly carved balustrade of the marble staircase accented the room as it gently curved up towards the landing of the second floor. Is stood as a breathtaking focal point in its timelessness. The wooden risers, at the edge of each stair, were skillfully formed into trees, detailed with an abundance of lush carved foliage and birds of every species imaginable. The roots of each tree curved around and over each other, gracefully tangling into a solid mooring that locked each marble slab in its place. Each branch of the tree gracefully rose into the sky, interlacing into an intricately woven banister. The artist had captured the spirits of the rocks, trees and small forest creatures, locking them forever within this masterpiece.  
  
"I remember when you were seven and tried to fly off of the staircase." Katie chuckled, running her hand over the cool, carved wood. "You had fashioned your mother's dressing gown around your neck like a cape and somehow climbed up the outside edge."  
  
Mara blushed fiercly at the memory. "Yes, I remember. I had quite the imagination as a child. You see," she explained to Will, who was quietly watching them in bemused confusion. The warmth of her cheeks flared as she tried to explain the actions of her youth. "When I was a child, I thought that the birds carved on the staircase had at one time been alive. That somehow they had become stuck in the trees, and needed to be set free." She frowned. He was unsuccessfully trying to repress his amusement. The smile tugging at the corners of his mouth tattled loudly as she continued, "I wanted them to sore in the sky again..free. Well, I thought perhaps they had just simply forgotten how to fly, so I got it into my little head to teach them."  
  
"So, did they fly?" he asked, yielding rein to his grin. He was enjoying this story immensely.  
  
Mara found herself smiling in return. "Yes, I think for just a second, they did. Well, at lease until I came crashing down to the floor." She laughed. Williams peal of laughter was rich and genuine, without any hint of mocking or teasing insincerity. Perhaps she had been too hard on him back at the airport. Not that he hadn't deserved it. His insistent teasing had set her teeth on edge. But, she had to admit, that he had kept his word on the long trip home. Perhaps it was time to reconsider her opinion of him.  
  
"Very nearly gave me my death of fright." Katie added. "Most children would have learned from that, but not my Mara, no. She was determined that she just needed to climb back up there and give them more practice."  
  
"Practice does make perfect." He pointed out, throwing his support behind Mara.  
  
Yes, she decided, she would try to be more friendly to him. But on her own terms and only if he continued to behave. "Thank you. However, my fractured leg aborted my early career as a flight instructor." Their laughter settled slowly. A reassuring silence lengthened as she reverently caressed the small robin peeking out of his wooden hiding place. Mara felt more relaxed now than she had all day. The painful undercurrents that had always been present when she recalled her childhood memories, less poignant. For the first time in years, she felt at peace. "God, it's good to be home"  
  
"It's good to have you home." Katie reassuringly patted her hand. "You will be staying in your old room, Dear. I suggest that we all take the opportunity to rest a bit, and meet for tea." Always the caretaker, Katie hadn't changed at all. Even as a child she had constantly doted on Mara, giving her the love and attention Lise never would.  
  
Her Grandmother face had taken on a tired edge, giving her a frailness that startled Mara. The trip to the airport had been too long. "Wonderful idea. It was a long drive and you look a bit tired gram. Is there anything you need?" Now it was Mara's turn to return the favor.  
  
"No, Mara, I'll be just fine. It's just the excitement of the day catching up with me." She flashed her a wan smile. "Perhaps I will take just a little rest, Dear."  
  
"Excellent. We'll have the whole evening to catch up." Mara promised, quickly giving Katie a kiss on the cheek.  
  
Accepting Charles' arm, Katie began ascending the stairs. Abruptly she stopped and looked down at her Granddaughter. "Perhaps Will can show you around the house. Help you become reacquainted with everything." She didn't miss the sudden flash of joy on Will's face or the startled widening of Mara's eyes.  
  
The matchmaker was at it again, she thought ruefully. Mara shook her head. "I'm sure he has other more important things to attend to. Besides, I'm quite sure that I can still find my way around and I do need to call in to the Superintendent in Albright." Mara replied quickly, flashing a warning glare to Will. The little imp had looked far too pleased with himself. Now he looked disappointed, like a petulant child denied his favorite toy. She watched as Katie nodded and departed for her room.  
  
"Perhaps I can play tour guide for you after you're settled in." his voice was hopeful. "That will give you time to unpack and me time to finalize this evening's plans.  
  
She glared at him again "No thank you. I remember the place just fine." The harshness of her rebuke startled her. Suddenly she was feeling guilty as a momentary hurt flashed in his eyes. She sighed, regretting uttering the words before they were out, but what was said, was said.  
  
"Can we call a truce?" He asked, his face serious.  
  
"A truce?" she repeated. Mara's mind whirled, trying to think of ways to offer her apology. Perhaps this was her opportunity.  
  
"Yes, you know. A ceasefire? Suspension of hostilities." He guiltily reminded himself of his behavior earlier at Heathrow. "Really, I apologize for teasing you as I did at the airport. I should have come to your rescue and beat the stupid sot within an inch of his life." He extended an elegant hand towards her. "Truce?"  
  
His voice was full of sincerity. Truly she couldn't find it in her heart to stay angry with him. She chuckled lightly. "Alright, a truce." She shook his hand briefly feeling as though she was somehow sealing herself to a future of incessant teasing. . "So, what exactly are these plans."  
  
Will smiled. He found himself under a strange compulsion to divulge the all details. It was something in the tone of her voice, the now tentative trust in her eyes. "Katie was adamant that your return home is an event that needs celebrating. Therefore, she asked me to invite a few close friends over for dinner. You know: Eat, drink and make merry, for tomorrow you'll need to recover." He quipped, slinging his suitcase over his shoulder as he mounted the first step of the staircase.  
  
Her injured arm protested as she lifted her case, the pain causing her to abruptly loose her grip on the handle. It fell to the floor with a clatter. Mara cursed under her breath, as the pain slowly subsided.  
  
"I'll get this." Will picked up the heavy suitcase, concern heavy on his face. "You know, you should really see a professional about that shoulder." He face was deadpan. "I know this physician. Lovely girl. A bit moody at times." He delighted as Mara's eyes widened, then shot daggers at him. "Doubles as an FBI agent on her days off."  
  
"You are incorrigible." She laughed softly as they started up the staircase. He was like having a little brother. One full of mischief and tricks.  
  
He found himself laughing with her, relaxing as they made their way up the staircase. "Absolutely! And all the more fun because of it."  
  
AN: Hi everyone! I want to take a sec to thank everyone who has reviewed thus far. Especially C. Belyea. I swear chicklet you have the soul of a Sidhe. Thanks for helping me refine the idea coming in the next chap. The heavy action explodes in the next chapter of "Guardians." 


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